Monkey Shorts 2: Jungle Telephone
by dragonmactir
Summary: The much-anticipated sequel to "Monkey Wash Donkey Rinse" - Lassiter has doubts, Juliet removes them. LASSIET


**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Psych_ or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **M

**Spoilers: **Shouldn't be any canonical spoilers, but this is a sequel to "Monkey Wash Donkey Rinse" though it probably can be read on its for the faint of heart.

**A/N: **Just a little birthday present to myself. This particular title is derived from two Zevon songs, both wonderful and insane (the first is far more insane than the second, I couldn't even begin to describe what it might really be about, the second is literally about a gorilla that swaps places with Zevon and goes off to live his life while Zevon stays in the gorilla enclosure at the LA zoo, and thematically about the idea that maybe being stuck in the zoo is the better end of the deal - let the gorilla deal with divorce and credit card bills! I picture him peeling a banana and leading a conga line of silverbacks at the end while the desperado gorilla tears his hair over tax returns.) Why did I choose them? Your guess is as good as mine, it just felt right for the emotional tone I was going for. There may be a further sequel somewhere down the line based on Zevon's lovely ballad to bondage and S&M, "Hostage-O", but this one should be a little less frightening. (I am still working on the Shakespeare thing, I just haven't felt up to dealing with it since I've been battling migraines and intermittent flu-like symptoms for about a week now. I always get sick before my birthday, for some reason. It could be psychosomatic, I suppose, or it could be allergies. Allergies are dangerous for Dragongirls, since every time I sneeze I set my hankie on fire. ;) )

* * *

**Jungle Telephone, or Gorilla You're a Desperado**

To his credit, he managed to roll with it for a good long while - six whole weeks, in fact. He compartmentalized his feelings - he had plenty of practice at it - and was able to function normally while leading a frighteningly schizophrenic existence where he worked in tandem with Juliet in perfect professional accord when on duty and explored hitherto undreamt-of aspects of kink with her when off. That first time they came together, after the robbery at the Tantric sex clinic (which, surprisingly, was solved when a young gentleman wearing baggy pants stuffed with herbal lubricants and aromatic oils was picked up attempting to get to his girlfriend's house by hitching a ride from an unmarked police cruiser a half an hour after Lassiter and O'Hara took the report, which Yogi Margreesh no doubt considered perfect Karmic backlash) they stuck pretty much to the pamphlet that Juliet had studied in-depth before dropping by so unexpectedly. After that they went off-script and got creative, though they always started with a modified healing ceremony (eventually they dispensed with the flowers and hippy-creepy salutations, except for occasional added spice) and usually ended with what Juliet said the pamphlet called a "melting hug," where their bodies pressed together so firmly that it was hard to tell where he ended and she began. Juliet had brought him a copy of the _Kama Sutra _and left it on his bedside table, saying with a wink that they should keep it around for times when they needed inspiration. It still sat there, binding unbroken, its usefulness not yet realized.

Eventually, though, the dichotomy of life started to wear on him. It began when he realized that, in some unfathomable way, the dirty little secret they shared had somehow strengthened their professional partnership rather than breaking it as he'd more than half expected. From a professional perspective they'd long since developed better-than-decent communication; now it became almost uncanny, seldom requiring more than a glance. Some of those glances held perhaps a little longer than necessary, but what they were communicating then was more salacious than professional, and somehow that worked to the partnership's advantage, too, in the same way that she shored up his not infrequent self-doubts with a simple touch. The realization ought to have comforted him, showing as it did that what they had was deeper than mere lust, but somehow that connection eluded him and all he could see was that he _wanted_ it to be more than lust that brought her to his bed at night.

The final straw for him was his birthday, or more accurately the day _after_ his birthday. She hinted all day at work that her gift to him that night would be in the nature of a private dinner party, and had arrived at his apartment bearing Jell-O jigglers, a bottle of good mescal, six flavors of edible body paint and wearing edible panties and nothing else under her simple shift dress - far and away a better birthday present than that first unintentionally too-effective "surprise" party so long ago. He'd purchased a single red rose that afternoon to grace the dining table and it came into play during the evening's festivities, its velvety petals drawn across her pale, perfect skin, brushing against her red-painted lips or describing circles around her pink nipples and, once, gently tickling the sensitive, secret flesh between her thighs. When she took her leave in the wee hours of the morning, with a deep kiss and a whispered "Happy birthday," she took the rose with her and left him with the memories.

He arrived at the station early as always, and kept himself in check admirably right up until the moment O'Hara walked into the bullpen, wearing his favorite of her at-work ensembles, the entirely too sexy black power suit with the short skirt and matching black fuck-me pumps. Clipped into her neat up-do was a red rosebud, slightly the worse for wear and with the edges of a couple of petals darkened where they came into contact with moisture. He felt heat rise up in his face and threaten to overwhelm him, so he fled to the safe haven of the men's room to splash himself liberally with cold water.

The door burst open again behind him after only a few seconds, and Juliet stalked in with her heels clicking purposefully and, perhaps, a trifle angrily on the white ceramic tiles. Lassiter cast a frantic eye at the line of urinals and stalls and found, to his relief, that they were all unused - they were alone, although he had to suppose _someone_ had seen her enter this last all-male bastion in the fully-integrated station. She backed him up against the hard edge of the sink and, with her blue eyes flashing a dangerous message he didn't quite comprehend, attacked him. It wasn't quite the attack he had braced himself for, however, and he nearly fainted when she threw herself into his arms, locked her ankles together behind his knees, and kissed him all over his face. She was licking his ear when the door opened and Dobson walked in.

Dobson stood stock still and surveyed the tableau before him for a moment in stunned silence. "I…think I'll go use the head on the first floor instead," he said at last, and fled.

Juliet giggled, madly Lassiter thought, and got down off of him. Lassiter groaned weakly and turned to slump face-first into the sink, certain he was on the verge of throwing up. One thought alone gave strength to his failing knees and roiling guts. He had to head this off quickly, before it got any worse.

"I need to see the Chief," he said.

"What for?" Juliet asked.

"To ask for immediate transfer."

"_What?" _She sounded outraged. "Why?"

"So she doesn't think to transfer _you."_

"Carlton, no one's getting transferred."

"What, you think Dobson isn't going to talk? You think he's the only one who knows we're in here together? _Wake up, _O'Hara. Our goose is cooked."

"No one's goose is cooked, Carlton. Chief Vick already knows about us. We have official sanction, even, although technically I guess your signature on the paperwork is forged since I signed for you. Neither Karen nor I thought you or anyone else would make an issue about it in this particular instance."

Lassiter couldn't believe what he was hearing. "…What?"

"Special dispensation, Carlton, for partners involved in a personal relationship. I went to Vick about it the first week we were together. I wanted to be above-board about it, although I suppose not bringing you in with me made it a little shady. I'm sorry about that - I didn't want to scare you off. Most of the precinct knows about us and I actually had to threaten Woody not to throw us a party of congratulations - in the morgue, no less." She shook her head at the memory.

Everybody knew about them? _Woody_ knew? And Lassiter hadn't noticed a damned thing. Small wonder, then, that Spencer had such an easy time stealing his cases out from under him. Only in retrospect did he find his colleagues' behavior over the past weeks oddly suspicious, from Vick's occasional too-interested inquiries about "how things are going" to Officer Allen's daily, knowing, "Good _morning_, Detective Lassiter."

Juliet laughed at his shell-shocked expression. "Look, Carlton, I know you've been struggling to keep our days and nights separate, and I appreciate both the effort and the consideration behind it, but I've been searching for a way all this time to let you know that it simply _is not necessary_, some way that will penetrate that thick skull of yours," she said, with a gentle rap of the knuckles against the side of his head. "Yes, we have to be able to work together without our personal feelings interfering with our jobs, but we are _not _different people when we put our badges on, and we do _not_ have different feelings for each other. We're together, Carlton, at work and after, and that's exactly how it should be, because _we love each other."_

The words were out, hanging in the air between them, and could not be taken back. Juliet didn't evince signs of wanting to do that, however, and after a moment, it sank in that she actually meant what she'd said. When the bomb went off in his heart it was his turn to pin her against the line of sinks, and what they did together there in the second floor men's room of the very public police station would certainly have gotten them fired and perhaps arrested had someone walked in on them, official dispensation or not, but thanks to the janitor's warnings Dobson thoughtfully placed outside the door, they were undisturbed.

**FIN**


End file.
